My garden is in the "perennial plots" section in the Town Community Garden on Mill Lane, about a mile from my home. That means I can’t just wander out the door after dinner to do a little weeding or harvesting. It’s more of a production: deciding I have the time, energy and inclination, and the weather is cooperating; remembering to take my vegetable scraps out of the freezer for the compost pile; putting tools in the back of the station wagon, remembering some bags and a knife to cut stems, etc. It also means I take the garden plot "as is."
For almost two decades I’ve had a growing challenge: trees along the road shading the garden have been getting bigger, shading more of the garden plot. Tomatoes have long been out of the question; more recently I can’t grow my favorite leafy vegetable, beet greens, and even the chives and oregano have died back to near- invisibility because of the shade. Last summer and the summer before, I rented another, seasonal, plot out in the sun, where I sweated away weeding and growing tomatoes, peppers, squash, beans, basil, and broccoli. And tried to grow eggplants – no luck.
But this summer, I knew I was going to be traveling during prime garden-tending season, so I didn’t plant much: some lettuce, kale, and leeks. During my infrequent visits, I couldn’t help but notice that the elm trees are succumbing, after all this time, to Dutch Elm Disease.
During my first decade of gardening in that plot, I kept telling myself that the shade cast by the trees was temporary, they would die soon, sadly. But they didn’t. After a while, I grew fond of the trees, felt rather maternal about them. I’d tell people the two healthiest elm trees in Amherst were shading my garden plot. I tried to get people who are working to save elms to take an interest. I suggested that maybe my trees were genetically stronger in resisting the disease. But I thought it more likely that fertilizer and water from the garden plots were helping them be strong and resist.
Whatever, it’s not working any more. The tree shading the plot directly west of mine is almost leafless now. The one that hangs over my plot has lots of yellow leaves – "flagging" – and has lost many leaves near the top. The one closest to the hydrant still looks good, but surely it’s next.
Next summer, I’m sure my garden plot will be better for its intended purpose, growing vegetables. The rhubarb will grow, I may have oregano to harvest again. I’ll no longer be devoting all the sunniest area to lupines, and I may have to bring myself to restrain the New England aster. There will probably be different birds – fewer orioles and catbirds, maybe more woodpeckers. I’ll learn to like the greater reward for effort invested, I’m absolutely sure.
But I’ll still miss my special elms, especially the one that hangs over my garden. Over the years I’ve pruned it trying to lighten the shade. Like a pet animal, it has been with me, for better or worse, through three living places and several relationships and breakups. Even a cat. It’s become like a problem pet: I’m frustrated by its "misbehavior," but I’m used to dealing with it. I can’t have cats anymore – allergies – but I’ve had a tree. I’ll miss it.